


With Harness On Our Back

by dulce_et_decorum



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Child Harry, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dulce_et_decorum/pseuds/dulce_et_decorum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus returns to London, a few years after the war. He finds, as is often the case, that it is easier to put someone else's life back together than your own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Old Lie

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story is very much a work in progress; it gets written slowly and I have only the vaguest idea where it is going. It's definitely AU--expect Lupin to meet the child Harry, and then we'll see where it goes. Warnings for child abuse and neglect; the severity of which will be warned every chapter. Thank you for reading!

Remus was relieved to be back in London, even if the return to his shabby flat found it more dank and dusty than ever. Even if the squat little witch who rented him the place ignored his profuse apologies and launched into an hour-long tirade about paying up three months and leaving for four. Even if the whole trip had been a waste of money and time, and the long weeks he had spent hunting down shamans yielded nothing. Even if there was no one to welcome him home.

In London, though, at least he could sit quietly in his favorite pub and nurse a firewhisky without attracting the attention of every passing Kazakh wizard. Here, he attracted the attention of exactly nobody.  The _Haghaven_ boasted an extreme clientele of every magical outcast who was brave enough to wander down to the dark end of Knockturn Alley. Here, former Death Eaters supped alongside Squibs, sallow-faced vampires could order a Bloody Mary without embarrassment and at closing time the cheeky young bartender would grin and holler “Last call for all beasts and blood traitors!”

He was absorbed in watching a stooped over hag shouting in gorgeous French at a harried busboy ( _…n’est pas le sang que j'ai commandé…_ ) when a woman sidled into the booth across from him with a harsh sigh.

Remus hid his surprise behind a mild expression as he examined the woman. She seemed at least 20 years his senior, but he knew well that her frizzy grey hair and wrinkles might be a premature sign of aging. Her clothing was clean and neat, of muggle make, although she had the garish color sense more common in wizards. Despite sitting directly across at him, she had yet to acknowledge his presence, keeping her eyes trained several feet to his left with something between annoyance and trepidation.

“Good evening,” Remus broke the silence awkwardly. Otherwise, he felt that she might sit staring, ignoring him, indefinitely.

“Sorry for butting in,” she said in a rush, eyes still in the corner of the pub, “I told that creaky old vampire over there that I was here with you so he’d leave me alone. Mind if I sit here for a few minutes?”

Remus nodded once in acquiescence and the woman relaxed. She motioned deftly to a waiter.

“Two gin and tonics, please,” she ordered briskly, without even a look at Remus for confirmation. Luckily, he wasn’t picky.

“Thanks,” he coughed, but sincerely, as the waiter left. “Do I…know you?”

She finally met his eyes. “Maybe. I don’t think we’ve spoken more than twice—Lupin, is it?”

“Yes, Remus Lupin. I’m sorry, I don’t recall…”

“You wouldn’t.” She was curt, but not annoyed. Remus tried to look apologetic anyway. “You were one of the kids in the Order, weren’t you? Friends with the Potters.”

Five years. It had been five years and his mouth still went dry with the rush of heavy memory.

“The werewolf,” she nodded to herself, as if finalizing the thought. He flinched a little at the casual manner in which she said it aloud, even here.

“Yeah…yes, that’s me.”

His faltering voice did not seem to clue her in to her faux pas, and she continued without pause. “I’m the Squib. Arabella.”

It clicked in Remus’s mind then. “Mrs. Figg. Dumbledore recruited you—”

“—after my husband died, bless his soul. You do remember; that’s nice of you, you did seem like a good lad.”

Thankfully the server chose this moment to approach with their gin and tonics, and Remus had the opportunity to take a long sip while he tried to return to conversational normalcy.

“How’ve you been getting on, since the end of the war?” he offered after a beat.

“Not bad,” she shrugged, “Dumbledore gave me a few odd jobs dealing with muggles, and I breed kneazles. Yourself?”

“I—I do all right. Been travelling in Asia for a few months. I just got back actually. It’s nice to be home.” Tone modulated perfectly for casual conversation, keeping it light and sincere.

“Got anyone left to come home to?”

He flinched. No, there wasn’t anyone. Hadn’t been anyone for five years. No one but Dumbledore, the landlady, and now Arabella. “No.”

She gestured with an upturned hand, perhaps in apology for her bluntness. “Me neither. Bloody wretched way to win a war, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he agreed, and downed his drink. His thoughts were spiraling dangerously and he needed to return to his usual even keel. The gin wouldn’t help. Getting rid of this woman would.

“Come back to my place,” she said suddenly. “I bet it’s nicer than yours. Dumbledore pays for it.”

“Sure.” Maybe it was the gin.


	2. My Luck is at the Bottom of the Sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild warning for nasty Petunia & sad young Harry.

The ringing of the telephone woke Remus from sleep—no sound so shrill and unpleasant existed in the wizarding world, he was sure, and certainly not at 7 in the morning. The noisy clatter of slippers and cats which followed was tempered by his amusement as Mrs. Figg got out of bed, cursing the early wakeup. 

“Yes?” she answered the phone grouchily. 

Her face shifted abruptly from sleepy annoyance, becoming sharp. Her eyes flashed to Remus, still half-dressed and lying on the bed, blinking owlishly up at her. “Of course Petunia, why don’t I come over in a few—oh. Oh. But—oh. I’ll let him in.”

She hung up with force. “Fuck. Goddamn worthless muggles, can’t call ahead—Remus, you’ve got to go.” 

He gazed at her, bemused. Muggles always swore with so much more relish. 

“Stop gawping at me like a frog, get your clothes on and get out!” It sounded as if she were trying for angry, but it struck Remus as something more like desperation. Nonetheless, he started pulling on his clothing as he protested. 

“Arabella, what’s going on? I’ll put on a jumper, I’m not going to terrify the muggles—”

Her face was white and so tense that every wrinkle stood out sharp. “Dumbledore is going to murder me. I was supposed to take care of just this one thing, one thing.” She was wringing her hands now, as if itching to push him out the window and solve whatever the dreadful problem was. 

“Dumbledore?”

“Stop it!” she screeched hysterically, “Stop it, stop figuring things out, he’s going to kill me. I can’t believe myself, after everything he’s done—”

“Calm down, Arabella,” he said, in his most soothing voice, and was gratified that her frantic gaze stopped flitting around the room as if looking for escape. “Whatever you need me to do, just tell me and I’ll do it. What’s wrong?”

She took a deep breath. “I can’t explain, but you have to leave. Someone’s coming here…a muggle…who I deal with for Dumbledore and it’s supposed to be a secret, oh Merlin…”  
“It is a secret. See? I’m dressed; I’m gone; I don’t know anything, I’m not asking. I’ll go out the back, even.”

She looked so relieved. “Remus—oh Remus you can’t Apparate from here, not for five miles. I can’t explain—I haven’t had a Floo installed yet--”

He held up his hands in a placating manner. “Look at me, Arabella, do I look like some pureblood who can’t take a bus? I’m fine.”

For a moment, she almost looked like she wanted to kiss him, but then she shooed him out, alternately thanking him and cursing him. 

* * *

As he meandered along the muggle road, Remus observed the tight, neat hedges around him. He had gotten in the habit of watching the world closely. When he was young he’d been a bit of a daydreamer. Not very observant. Head in the clouds, nose in a book. Moony.  
Nowadays, he didn’t often let his mind wander. It wouldn’t do to let his thoughts…well. It was better to keep tabs on things, anyway. A watchful eye had gotten him out of more than one scrape in Kazhakstan. 

There wasn’t much to watch as he walked, though. The morning sun was still light and bright, illuminating house after house, identical little white buildings with wine-dark roofs. Clean and uniform and civilized, as if nothing unruly had ever happened here. 

There were few people about at this hour—one little old lady, pruning rosebushes with a tight expression, had given him a glare—but it didn’t feel quite peaceful. More of a loaded silence, like the town was holding its breath, waiting for him to get along and go away. 

There was a little blur of movement on the pavement ahead. It was moving oddly and Remus couldn’t make out what it was. 

Without slowing or quickening his pace, he continued to walk toward it, calm, watchful. 

In a few moments, it became clear that it was a person carrying something large. A few steps more: a large bag, full of something bulky. More steps. A quite small person. 

A child, actually. Remus could make out a small mop of dark hair. The sight of the boy toting this oversized object would have been comical if he weren’t struggling so. Now that he could make out the face, the boy seemed young, as well. Quite young to be wandering around alone. As he approached, he felt the urge to intervene, to help. 

But also, hesitation. He didn’t want to scare the lad. His help probably wasn’t necessary. It would do no good. Wouldn’t a normal person just walk by?

 _James would have helped,_ a voice in his head supplied. Remus’s step faltered. Why was he thinking suddenly of James? He never let himself…he pushed the thought away. 

_James would want you to help._

Perhaps just to keep the voice at bay, he stopped. 

“Do you need a hand, son?” The words sounded a bit awkward. Remus tried to channel his father—he was probably as old as the boy’s parents, if not older. 

The child stilled in his motions immediately. He hadn’t noticed Remus yet, not really, and he paused before answering in a shrill clear voice. “No thank you, sir, I’m fine.” 

Impeccable manners--probably afraid of him. Fair enough. “Where are your parents? It’s a bit early to be out alone.”

“My parents are dead, sir,” he said promptly, “I live with my aunt and uncle.”

Remus blinked. It seemed tragedy was not exclusive to the Wizarding World. “I’m sorry.” 

The boy shrugged, and wiped his forehead. He was sweaty, and clearly tired. Scrawny, bags under his eyes. Expression quite serious. The lad had refused, and now the wizard should go on his way and leave the muggles to their own devices. He hadn’t been able to help, as usual…

He tried again. “Let me lift the bag for you, lad—just tell me where to take it and I’ll drop it off.”

“I shouldn’t. I’m not allowed to talk to anyone.” He was suddenly anxious, as if he had just realized that he was, in fact, talking to someone. 

“If you tell me which your house number, I can talk to your aunt and uncle instead,” Remus said, rather desperately. “They really shouldn’t give you such a big job. I could let them know you’re having trouble. Then they could help you, instead.”

The boy’s head shot up for the first time. “No! They’re already so cross. Please don’t.”

“Then let me help. You don’t have to talk to me. Just point at where to take it.”

He chewed his lip, obviously tempted, but reluctant to relinquish his task. “I’m s’posed to carry it. My Aunt said since I spoilt them I had to carry them.”

“You spoilt them?”

“Yes,” he said in a breathless whisper. “It was very bad! I put the wrong washing stuff. I ruined all the towels with big orange patches.”

The wizard blinked, opened his mouth, but the boy was speaking quickly now, confessing in a rush.

“I always do the towels with bleach, but these are new ones. They’re colors and I’m to do them like the color clothes. Not like the other towels. The white towels. I didn’t know. They were new and I spoilt them. I’m going to catch it. But first I’m taking them to Mrs. Figg. She doesn’t mind old ratty things, because of her cats, my Aunt says.”

Remus was reaching for the bag. To Mrs. Figg. 

He hesitated. Then laughed.

“Mrs. Figg is my friend. And I reckon I’m going to catch it too."


End file.
